


Sleep patterns

by Fatale (femme)



Series: This complicated thing we have [13]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Farting, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are kind of gross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep patterns

**Author's Note:**

> posted foreverrrrr ago on lj [here](http://fatale.livejournal.com/257111.html).

sleep patterns  
Peter/El/Neal  
PG  
A/N: kind of gross, actually.

 

 

Peter sleeps in the middle, arm lazily slung around El's waist. It's nothing personal, it's just habit born of the years they've been sharing a bed, just the two of them. Neal sleeps on Peter's other side because he can't stand to sleep wrapped up by someone, tangled in their too-warm limbs. Not just yet. He wakes up panicked, feeling constricted. 

The first night, his eyes fly open. He's not sure what woke him up until he hears it again: the distinct sound of Peter farting quietly in his sleep. Ugh. 

_Oh my fucking God_ , Neal thinks. He can't do this. Just -- he can't.

He aims a sharp kick at Peter's legs accidentally on purpose and Peter wakes with a muffled snort.

"Wha--" Peter says, voice low and slurred.

"Move over," Neal says, sliding out of bed and crossing to the other side. 

Peter looks confused, a little hurt, but scoots over, waking El up. El blinks blearily. 

"Neal?" she asks, looking up at him, and God, but he loves her. Her rumpled hair, her pale, pillow-creased cheek.

"Can I?" he asks, gesturing to the space beside her.

"Sure," she says, sliding back into the warmth of Peter's arms and flicks back the comforter for Neal.

He gets in beside her, reveling a little in the smell of the sheets on this side of the bed: trace flowery perfume, clean skin, totally different from the masculine musk of the other side. 

Peter snores loudly, his fingers twitch against her hip and Neal can feel it against his stomach, Peter's blunt fingers scratching lightly. He wonders if Peter's dreaming about doing paperwork again. They'll know soon enough, if Peter starts mumbling about office supplies and FD-302s. 

He looks over and El's watching him silently, blue eyes gleaming in the dark. 

"Sleep farting?" she asks.

"It's awful, that side of Peter," Neal confesses, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

She smiles and her eyes crinkle at the corners, huffs out a quiet laugh. Impulsively, Neal leans forward and kisses her, deep and soft and lingering, his heart thundering in his chest. He wants -- 

He doesn't know.

"Oh, baby," she says, reaching up to comb gently through his sleep-mussed hair. "I know," she says. 

Neal doesn't say anything, but he brings his hand up to tangle in hers. He's glad one of them does.

He sleeps.

 

 

the end.


End file.
